


Desire

by Polinverse



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polinverse/pseuds/Polinverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loghain investigates a series of murders only to fall into dream... or a trap? Kinkmeme request for Teyrn Loghain/"Lady Gaga" crossover. Such an abomination deserves a fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire

The room was littered with the half-mummified bodies of naked men, and the stench challenged even the strongest for control of their stomachs.

Teyrn Loghain pulled his sword from the limp corpse of the witch, and wiped his blade against a fold of her red dress. The men who remained with him held firm while they watched the voluptuous figure waste away into a dessicated corpse. The others were outside, relieving themselves of lunch. "Demon spawn," Loghain spat, and sheathed his sword in disgust. As he turned, a reflection of light through the window caught on something around the witch's neck, and gave the general pause. A sliver of gold in the shape of lightning, contained in a crystal of clear glass. His gauntlets clinked against the bauble as he pulled the trinket from the witch's neck and examined the work. A strange symbol shaped like the letter "G" in the style of ancient Tevinter script was carved into the bottom of the glass. An imperceptible tingle traveled through his arm and down his body. He felt... flushed. The Teyrn's deeply furrowed brow creased further as his hands closed around the amulet.  
   
"Looks like she's been seducing men and bringing them here for months," said the Teyrn. "Find out what you can about the victims," he told his men, "Inform the families. Put in a request to the royal treasuries for compensation. And if Maric won't pay this debt, I damn well will. Take it out of my coffers if necessary. Make sure they get something."

So saying, the large general turned and walk from the cottage that smelled of rancid earth. Since the death of his wife he had walked like a hollow shell through the world, but the senseless deaths here shook even his cold facade. He brought the amulet out into the light and studied the bauble in the sun as he walked. It seemed to glittered with an obscene inner light. In his hands, the crystal seemed to pulse to an infectious beat. And if he concentrated, focused all his thoughts on the golden center, he thought he saw a woman dancing...

**     **     **

  
The cold stone of the castle told no tales. It hushed all sounds, buried the revelation of screams. And behind the double oak doors of the innermost chambers of his fortress, Loghain was in heaven. She was waiting for him again to warm his cold chambers.

Her slight form was inviting and pliable as she shifted her weight above the white sheets, motioning for him to join her. He sank to her side, his long, dark hair like a shadow crossing her pale skin. Her fingers traced the long, sallow curve of his cheek, down to the silver chain around his neck, touching upon the crystal charm. She smiled. He rubbed the feathered cloak about her shoulders, ran his hands down the creamy plumage, felt her young body fluttering beneath.

"Do you love me?" She asked.

"Of course I love you."

She looked at him, amazingly happy, her girl-child eyes opened wide, and her lips inviting.

"Kiss kiss," she puckered.

He leaned over to kiss her, circling her cheeks. His scarred, war-wrought hands desecrated the pale whiteness of her face as he took her by the chin and made his desire felt against her skin. His hands crawled down the curve between her waist and thighs, feeling the heat of her body, and she turned her eyes to meet him, lids veiled, and opened her mouth to let his tongue in.

"Come here." He said, and she rolled over to straddle him. She leaned down to kiss him again, pressing him into the pillows in their bed of desire, but he resisted. Instead, he rose, the passion of his manhood pressing against her body, warring with his desire to savor the moment, to indulge first in tasting her skin, her thighs, her flavor. He buried his face in her bosom and she turned her head away as if unbelieving or unwilling to accept his supplication; even as she pressed her firm flesh closer and closer into his mouth, feeding herself to him with heaving breaths and little gasps.

The white, feathered cloak flew off her shoulders, revealing the tight-fitting, scant blue fabric that wrapped like an "X" around her supple body. He fingered the shimmery, otherworldy fabric and watched as the threads pulsed, then contracted under the insistent thrust of his fingers. His hands were large and ugly next to her ethereal light, but he enjoyed watching the gnarled joints clenching and pulling on the elastic material. He knew that she watched, too, all whites-of-eyes and child-like stare, equal in his fascination.

"I don't even know your name," he told her hair.

"Call me Lady," she giggled.

He spun her about on the bed, and she clenched her legs around him, exulting as the movement pressed their bodies tighter together. They were still for a moment as her fingers clawed their way up his shoulder, and reaching his neck, her hands brushed again along the amulet, and she smiled as she tugged playfully at it. Kissing her, he rose with the Lady in his arms, the fire in his blood surging, and carried her to the balcony. He clasped her lolling head between his hands and asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she said. They kissed again.

"Father?" Called a new voice, thin and brittle through the heavy oak doors. Knocking followed. "Father?! You've been in there for days!"

"Anora?" He looked, startled, towards the door, a keen frown of concern penetrating the haze of desire. "Stop," she said and wrapped her hands around his face to force him to look at her. He stared, uncomprehendingly at her a moment, then to the shuddering doors of his chambers. Her fine fingers struggled to turn his face to her.

"What are you doing? Stop." Her hands wrestled with him, her body writhing against the parapet. Loghain frowned, a deep sense of unease replacing the passions of the moment before. Her left hand rose as if to attack, and he intercepted it, halting the attack. Her right hand became a balled fist flying straight to his mouth. Loghain felt the crack of bone and tasted the iron of blood as her blow connected. He slapped her, the blood in his heart throbbing in his hands; hands shaking; she was shaking. Automatically the beast inside reared, reached up to encircle her throat, told his hands to tighten his grip, to choke the life out of her. Flushed and short of breath, the lady's face began to change. Her fingers lengthened into claws, while her eyebrows grow into devilish horns, and her blond hair sprouted purple flame. "Demon," grunted Loghain, and he pressed his fingers even harder into the slender throat.

The desire demon's hands beat on the stone, groping around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Her claws found a vase to curl her fingers around. She hoisted the vase and bashed it against the side of his head, eliciting a howl. Loghain staggered, his hands loosening, but before she could press the advantage, he leveraged his body against hers, and lifting her legs, turned her body around and pushed her off the balcony.

"Father!" Burst Anora as the guards finally struck down the door and the girl came running in, blue eyes wide with concern. Her father's bloody, haggard face frightened her, but she refused to look away. She steeled herself to look into his eyes. Teyrn Loghain, the General of Ferelden, looked into the terror in his daughters eyes, and looked away. "Go," he said, and waved for his men to take Anora elsewhere.

"Father!" Her cry was as much a rebuke as an objection. The men looked uncertainly between their lord and the young daughter. Loghain said nothing, his hand clenched over his heart, his face impassive. Finally, Anora nodded to the men, and back held high, she turned and left.

In his hands, over his shattered heart, Loghain held the crushed crystal until the shards pressed into his scars and drew fresh blood over a decade's worth of wounds.  
 **  
End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you judge me.


End file.
